


Marriage Proposal Do's (As Researched by Ronan Lynch)

by betweentowns



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Ronan is a Wreck, Weddings, but a cute one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 14:05:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20259304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweentowns/pseuds/betweentowns
Summary: Ronan Lynch is not great at following directions. And he’s decidedly NOT getting on one knee.





	Marriage Proposal Do's (As Researched by Ronan Lynch)

It's admittedly very un-Ronan to be so invested in any one thing, but Adam Parrish deserves the world. So he turns to the most logical thing--_Google. _

_How to propose _he taps aggressively. He goes with the first link presented to him, a website called the Spruce, claiming to know the secret recipe of all proposals with an article called _Marriage Proposal Do's. _

He follows it as best as Ronan Lynch can follow any directions. 

**1\. _Do_ test the waters:**

“Hey, Parrish?”

Roughly ten years of knowing each other—a good portion of that decade spent submitting to the horrifying ordeal of being _known _by each other—and to Ronan, Adam Parrish was still, perpetually, just _Parrish._

And Adam can’t complain; he likes the way Ronan says his last name even if he hates the way he says it himself. Because Ronan Lynch is something otherworldly, someone incapable of stumbling over two syllables in a silly Henrietta drawl, a man who curls his lip to create an _s _sound so pretty it’s second only to his own face.

“Ronan?” Adam responds. He is not one for _Lynch. _Like most seemingly simple social cues he had missed as a private schoolboy, the practice of using last names as first names was still foreign to him, even after all these years—excluding Gansey, of course: Gansey was inexplicably Gansey. Adam’s _Lynch _was a biting thing, reserved only for arguments.

“Can you believe this shit?” As they were currently seated at Blue and Gansey’s much-anticipated wedding, watching the new couple sway (only out of the corner of one’s eyes, as the train wreck that is Blue and Gansey _dancing _is one so awkward yet sickeningly endearing that it is hard to look) this _shit _could be any number of things.

“Which shit?”

In true Ronan fashion, Adam’s boyfriend’s suit jacket and tie had been ditched the moment the ceremony had ended—_before _pictures, a deal Adam suspects had been struck with the newlyweds in exchange for Ronan being a willful participant, well, here, at a wedding of all places. “_This _shit,” Ronan repeats, spreading his hand around. “Your fancy Ivy League tuition wasted on one night.”

“Ha!” Adam places a hand on the back of Ronan’s neck, where the ink of his tattoo ends and where his agitation is most easily soothed away. “Since when do you care about wasting money?”

“I don’t,” Ronan grumbles. “But this is just ridiculous.”

“Hmm,” Adam murmurs in agreement, rubbing soothing circles into Ronan’s ever-tense skin. “I guess.”

It _was _ridiculous, this over-sized wedding that could purchase a quaint home for a large family, but Blue and Gansey had for some reason wanted to be married, and it was unlikely that the Gansey family could let such an event go by in any fashion unworthy of the Gansey name. Yet though Adam’s best friends had submitted to many of the whims of Gansey’s parents, 300 Fox Way and its residents had had their way with planing as well, and truthfully—it was beautiful. In an odd way, with indie music being played by an orchestra fit for a queen and Blue’s DIY-gown pressed into Gansey’s neatly-pressed tux. And, more incredibly still, Ronan, handsome in an (almost) suit and well-shaped face lit with warm fairy lights, sitting next to Adam, dapper in a neatly-pressed suit of his own, wise and content.

It was beautiful in the way that two odd things coming together could be. Unexpected and magical.

“You’re not telling me you’re a wedding person?” Ronan scoffs. But he’s studying Adam’s face carefully.

“I’m not. But this is nice.”

Ronan settles, and the absurdity of the whole conversation almost, _almost _makes Adam think that Ronan is up to something a little more complex than just being a little shit for no reason.

But then they send Gansey and Blue off on a European tour honeymoon, settle back into their easy routine trading off weekends from the Barns to Adam’s “fancy Ivy League” apartment, and no talk of weddings is mentioned again.

**2\. _Do_ make it a surprise**

“I promise you that there is no plausible _way _Adam could be expecting this,” Blue says, testing the warmth of some milk on the back of her hand.

Gansey nods his agreement. “No way.” He’s cradling his and Blue’s new baby, Jane, in a way that makes Ronan want to scream. Dad-Gansey is, well, about ten times more Dad-like than Gansey already was, and it is horrible and terrible and _maybe_ cute on some days, when Ronan was in a more forgiving temperament. This was not one of those days.

“Ronan,” Gansey says quickly, using the voice he employs to diffuse a temper tantrum that _Jane _might have. “Trust me.”

Ronan sighs. He does trust Gansey, of course, but he’s heard the stories—Gansey had accidentally asked Blue to marry him after a sleepless night over a plate of eggs. No ring. Fancy dinner reservations forgotten. Speech unprepared, and half-finished in a journal somewhere. For all his pomp and circumstances, Gansey’s discretion sometimes left a little to be desired.

So Ronan turns to Blue, the woman who had somehow, wondrously, said _yes _regardless. “Sargent?”

“He’s gonna be surprised, Ronan. You said it’s been what, two _years_ since you last even discussed marriage?”

“Yeah.”

“If you could call shitting on my wedding a discussion,” Blue adds.

“What?” Gansey demands. “You—“ he lowers his voice for Jane’s benefit—“shit on our wedding??”

Blue and Ronan roll their eyes.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Ronan states. “She’s gonna hear it one day, man. Might as well start them young.”

“And then she’ll turn out as charming and lovely as you did, Ronan?” Blue bats her eyelashes.

“Fuck you.”

Gansey gasps and covers Jane’s tiny ears. “Ronan. Please get out of our house.”

**3\. _Do_ find the right engagement ring:**

“Can I help you, sir? Um, _sirs?”_

In true Gansey style, Gansey flashes the jewelry saleswoman a dazzling smile. “Just looking, thank you. But actually, so you have this one in my size? A 10, I think?”

Ronan is exasperated and ring shopping is not at all fun. He’s brought Gansey along specifically to keep him from having to speak to any eager salesperson for more than 10 seconds, because Gansey is long-fingered and dainty-handed like Adam (which is good for trying-on’s sake) and because all those years ago, Gansey had asked Ronan to come along when ring shopping for Blue.

“What’d you think?” Gansey asks, showing off yet another ring choice.

It’s not bad. It’s sturdy and dark silver. Not so crazy expensive that Adam would feel uncomfortable wearing. But still, it wasn’t the one.

Gansey seems to read this on his face. “Actually,” he tells the slightly disappointed saleswoman. “We’re not loving this one.”

“None of them are right,” Ronan says plainly.

Gansey considers this for a moment. “We need a break, I think.” Louder, to the saleswoman, he adds. “Today’s just not the day. But thank you, really, for all the help.”

The lady shakes her head in understanding. “When you and your fiancé are ready, the right ring will be ready for you.”

Ronan splutters. “We’re not—“

But Gansey cuts him off, beaming. “I’m sure of it. Thank you! Let’s go, Ronan—excelsior!”

Ronan’s stormy as they head into the Pig. “Fuck this shit. It’s stupid. I’m never gonna find one that’s perfect.”

“You know,” Gansey says cheerfully, bobbing his head to the sound of the Pig roaring its no-longer-existent engine to life. “It’s really too bad, that no one here has the, um, ability to, hypothetically create exact the ring we’re looking for. From scratch. Because that would be useful.”

Ronan groans, because Gansey is insufferable, he really is. And also because why hadn’t _he _thought of that? “Fuck this shit.”

**4.** _**Do**_** talk to his parents:**

It’s a dream thing, through and through. It’s metal because that seemed traditional, but it’s so delicately carved, adorned with tiny branches and leaves, that it’s almost hard to tell. It’s a silvery material that’s always a little cold and only exists in Ronan’s head. He knows without testing the theory that it will fit perfectly on Adam’s ring finger.

That is, if Ronan ever offers it to him. Considering it’s been resting in the pocket of his various black skinny jeans for the last month or so.

He feels it through his pants now, a slight chill against his thigh as he sits on the hard ground. The grass has already stained his pant legs and the church building’s shadow hangs over Ronan, making him feel smaller than he remembers how to be.

He’s not sure what he’s doing at Niall Lynch’s grave.

He does know that there is no way in any circle of hell that he would ever ask Adam’s parents for their blessing, or whatever. No fucking way. There would be no “giving away.” Adam was not theirs, not anyone's, to give.

And so in a last moment of desperation and stalling, he has ended up here, with one of his own parents.

To his father’s headstone, he says, “I’m scared he’s gonna say no.”

He gets no answer, so he continues. “And I don’t know why. Because everything’s perfect, and I don’t even know why the fuck I’m asking anyway. It’s not like I think he’s gonna leave or something. But I still want to be sure, you know? I want to know that he wants this, too, forever. Or I guess you _don’t_ know, since you never actually proposed, did you? Just dreamed Mom up out of thin air.”

Ronan takes a shaky breath. Then remembers who the fuck he is. “Huh. Why am I asking _you _for advice ?” He stands up and cleans off his pants. “I’m gonna stop pussying around now.”

Then he texts Opal to get lost for the night (or, to nicely ask Blue if she would like help with Jane tonight,) calls to make sure Adam will be home later, and heads to the grocery store to pick up some fresh mozzarella.

**5\. _Do_ tell him why you want to marry him:**

Adam Parrish is dizzy.

He’s thinking—well, he’s not thinking, he’s barely breathing. But somehow his senses have collaborated to come to some conclusions:

Ronan is not on one knee, decidedly. He is still sitting across the dinner table from Adam, legs casually and slightly spread in that way Adam can only describe as _delicious_. Hands clasped together, admittedly in a way that is nervous and decidedly not-Ronan, but still.

And, as Adam does only have one working ear, it is very plausible that Ronan had uttered something else entirely—it happens often, even in the quiet of the Barns. Certainly it was not _Will __you marry me _that Ronan had slid so easily into their otherwise unremarkable dinner conversation.

There was no way. 

So, moving forward with that logic, Adam shakes his head and says, “I have never had homemade pizza this good.”

“What?” This is Ronan, finally sitting up.

“I just can’t believe you made this pizza. It’s so good.”

Ronan rubs his neck wearily. “I mean, what, like did I just ask you to marry me and you _changed the subject_?" 

“Did you?”

“Adam!” Ronan slaps his hand on the table.

Adam’s dizzier still. “Did you just call me Adam? Is there something in the wine?”

Ronan waits impatiently.

“You can’t be serious. You didn’t even ease into it. You haven’t even moved. I thought I imagined it!”

“I’m serious.” Ronan reaches into his pocket and extracts a ring, places it on the table to be admired.

Adam’s breath leaves him for the second time that night. “It’s beautiful. Jesus, Ronan. Did you _dream _this?”

Ronan just stares at him.

“But you hate weddings?”

“When the fuck did I say that?”

“You scoff at the mention of cake. Or dancing. We left early from Mr. Gray and Maura’s!”

“I hate Gray. “

“You complained at _Blue and Gansey’s_.”

“I—“ Ronan throws his hands up. “Parrish—I complain about everything!”

“But—“

“Parrish, yes or no,” Ronan growls.

Adam throws his own hands up. “I just—why?”

_Because it’s _you, Ronan thinks. Adam Parrish who is Adam Parrish who is Adam Parrish. Adam Parrish who will always call Ronan out on his bullshit. Adam Parrish who is smarter and more hardworking than anyone who Ronan has ever known. Adam Parrish who _knows _Ronan and loves him anyway. Adam Parrish who is there with his voice and his hands and his lips when Ronan is frozen and drenched in sweat in bed, a dream thing at his side. Adam Parrish who says _Jesus, Ronan, _and makes it sound like he's only said the same name twice. Adam Parrish who is perfect. Adam Parrish who he doesn’t deserve but is selfish enough to ask for anyway.

“Because,” Ronan clears his throat. These words are not anything short of true but they burn his throat coming out, like it’s the first time, with the fear that they may not be said back. “I love you.”

He says nothing else aloud, but knows Adam knows because tears are making his blue eyes bluer.

“And I want it on paper, damn it.”

For some reason, _this _is the statement that has Adam clambering clumsily out of his chair and into Ronan’s arms. This is what has him murmuring into Ronan’s ear, “I love you too, I love you too.”

After a long minute of this Ronan reminds, “The ring.”

“Oh my goodness, Ronan. Can I get a minute?”

Ronan—whos voice is _not raspy from _crying, not at all—says, “You’ve had like, 10.”

Adam pulls away and sighs. Then leans back in and kisses his—fiancé? sweetly until they almost forget about any ring entirely. “Forever with you, huh? I can’t wait.”

It is sarcastic, but the truth in the words shine out almost overwhelmingly. And for once Ronan can’t think of anything to say.

Adam can. “Put it on me then, fucker.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re interested, the link to the actual article Ronan was using as advice is here: https://www.thespruce.com/how-to-propose-marriage-proposal-dos-and-donts-3489820  
Lots of love,  
Betweentowns<3


End file.
